


slow your pace down to mine

by entwinedsouls



Series: handle with care [3]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Connor - Freeform, Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Gay, Gay Male Character, M/M, Making Up, Music, New York City, Old music - Freeform, Oliver - Freeform, Romance, Season/Series 01, Self-Discovery, Sharing a Bed, Song Lyrics, coliver - Freeform, gay fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 17:40:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12215664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entwinedsouls/pseuds/entwinedsouls
Summary: "Here we are again, thinks Oliver. He stares at his two polished shoes, wondering how his feet had again brought him here on their own.Is this it then? Is it time? Oliver stands before this looming door that still feels a little like home, and suddenly everything has come down to him, this door and Connor."The happy ending as promised. In which there is closure and some form of mutual understanding and a newborn love that is fiercer and more passionate than before.





	slow your pace down to mine

**Author's Note:**

> title is taken from Hippo Campus' Vines. 
> 
> ah, here it is! the happy ending.   
> this part is my favourite one, because it was the easiest to write and made me feel all happy and warm. bear with me if it sounds a little pretentious when the conversation goes deep. i am TRYING! also, happy s4 premiere.  
>  hope you enjoy it. here goes nothing...

 

If you keep two halves apart, it is only a matter of time that the two find themselves together once again.  It is only fitting if they do, it is only right that way.

Call him a sucker, but Connor is a firm believer in fate, ignorant and hard-headed as he is. He had Oliver to thank for that, with his queer library of romantic reads and his dreamy mop of thoughts. Months ago, with feet in the makeshift coffee table and a rented movie in the disk jack, the topic of fate had come up in between mouthfuls of chow mein.

“How do you not believe that two souls can be meant for each other? “ Oliver’s eyes had widened, and he even had to put his box of noodles down, turning himself to look Connor square in the face. Melodramatic, to say the least.  Connor put his box right next to Oliver’s, then took a deep breath, ready to fend himself… with a shrug: “I just… don’t,”

At this, Oliver sighed exasperatedly, then launched off on a rant about something about the law of attraction and some article he read the night before, hands gesturing wildly, almost animated. This was one of those sights that Connor had taken a mental picture of, chuckling to himself.

In 10 years, perhaps he’d look back and laugh at Ollie, that hopeless romantic.

He’d tell you he didn’t remember a _thing_ Ollie had said about fate, but the truth is he remembers everything down to the T. he’d been converted into a fate-believer that very night, for Christ’s sake! Surely that wouldn’t be a very nice story to tell at parties, not to his advantage anyway.

The facts are that he believed in fate the moment Oliver had clutched his arm, trying to demonstrate a “love at first sight” scene from another one of his novels and describing how your stomach was supposed to “do a hundred flips in a second” and how your skin would “tingle like electricity”.

Oliver’s point was that every love at first sight moment had its telltale sign, and that you would know it when you felt it. Oliver also made sure to leave out the part where he would’ve told Connor how he felt exactly that way when he saw him—just because he thought that con would laugh. Furthermore, it probably wasn’t time yet.

they didn’t have sex that night because both of them agreed that they were too full and too tired, so they sealed the night with just a kiss and had fallen asleep to something on an old record Connor thrifted.

[ **The ink spots – memories of you** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R65cfuLLn-g)

In the dead of the night, with his arm a seatbelt around Oliver’s torso, Connor felt fingers grasping for his hand, so he held it and rested his chin on the slumbering boy’s shoulder.

With Ollie’s hand in his, he’d heard the man mumble, “Don’t you feel it? The thousand sparks, right here.” and at that Connor had smiled and nodded, squeezing Oliver’s hand a little tighter. That’s when he became a believer.

He still is one, to this very day.

+++

Lying in the hammock on the balcony, Connor inhales a deep breath of fog and polluted air. Wrong time of the year to be in hammocks, he thinks as he gets up for a drink of water. His throat feels coarse and stupidly enough he’d thought spending the morning outside in the dry cool air would be a remedy of some sort.

Still, a sore throat couldn’t compare to his broken heart. It’s been about a month, and thankfully the pain has reduced steadily; what were once sharp japs of ice cold were now low aching throbs. it wasn’t as bad as it was then, ever since Oliver returned his spare keys, Connor did the best he could to box up his feelings and leave them aside for a while, as Oliver seemed to have done.

All that has changed a month later is the drinking. There are no late, endless nights drowned in alcohol, but there are still many times Connor falls asleep with the thought of what could have been.

It all felt so final when Oliver had left his keys on the kitchen table. Like a big full stop to everything. Connor was tempted to go back to bed and well in his own despair but the words Oliver had uttered still resonated in the walls of the lonely apartment.

this was real life, and however badly Connor felt  for himself, the world kept turning, and it was his choice whether or not he would drink away another night or try his best to keep up with the whirlwind of his day to day.

Things with the keating-5 have not gotten any better, but it hasn’t gotten any worse either. It just sucks that now Connor is bound to 4 other people just because they did the wrong thing at the wrong time, together.

Thread and needle, he taught himself how to sew it all together. That’s just how the world revolves; you prick your finger about a thousand times, then you sew some more. Even though life as we know it isn’t going exceptionally well for him, it’s safe to say that at the very least he’s got it all held together pretty alright.

On the emotional side of things, not so. he still longed for Oliver, he still felt like everything was a shade duller without him and he still spent his late nights replaying those memories in his head until his mind grew so tired that it put him to sleep.

Albeit having his life sorted out in auto-pilot, it seemed that unconsciously, he’d grow more and more sober—his thoughts sounded more enunciated and less like six different albums playing at once.

He even considered seeing someone new, or maybe just… banging someone new. But somewhere, deep down,  his gut told him to wait. because it isn’t a gone case, because every full stop promises the start of something new—because he loves Ollie still, now more than ever.

He’d seen the slight flicker of light in Oliver’s eyes the morning he came, and that had to mean something; that maybe Oliver, too, didn’t want it to be over?  Nevertheless, he was going to try and bring that light back, somehow.

He just didn’t know when to.

+++

And then there is fate, along with all the romantic, sappy garbage Connor will never admit to believing in public.

Everything is so complicated, and the love he felt and still feels for Oliver might just be the only thing he is sure of now. Sure, they’ve split up, but the way they left things felt somewhat unfinished. Not so much like a cliffhanger but perhaps just a story left unfinished.

That wasn’t how Connor intended things to be. He needs the closure, and he wants the answers. Of course, the most desirable case would be getting back together, but given the circumstances it is just as likely that the strings were better left knotted.

Either way, he needs to talk to Oliver. A conversation where neither of them are intoxicated, figuratively and literally.

It’s been a month and Connor has thought over everything more than a hundred times, and the more he saw Oliver’s face in his head the more hurt he looked. He still had to explain why he’d called him up, 3 weeks ago, drunk and awfully apologetic.

In retrospect, those thoughts sound incredibly desperate and hastily pieced together. sober, Connor isn’t about to deny how desperate he sounded because he _is,_ but he’s tried to fuse those mixed feelings and avalanche of words into something that sounded more sane, more acceptable.

He was appealing for a retrial and this whole month felt like prep to present his case again, with a new touch of self-awareness and that same old aching heart that wanted nothing more than to go home.

an unsuspecting ounce of guilt still pulls at his conscience, and on some days he doubts he can even look Ollie square in the eye, knowing what he’s done and how much he’s hurt him; but he’s determined to try.

+++

Here we are again, thinks Oliver. He stares at his two polished shoes, wondering how his feet had again brought him here on their own.

Is this it then? Is it time? Oliver stands before this looming door that still feels a little like home, and suddenly everything has come down to him, this door and Connor.

This door is the only thing that comes between them; this door would determine everything else from this moment. This is all that matters now. This is all that's left.

Oliver’s here to listen and apologize. Connor’s ready to apologize and win back the love of his life, fingers crossed. Oliver sets his briefcase against the door and knocks just twice—Connor once mentioned that he couldn’t stand it when people kept banging on his door.

“Leave it by the door! I can’t get to you right now, thanks!” Connor’s voice echoed from the bathroom and seeps right under the cracks of his front door, greeting Oliver.

Lately, Connor has opted to online grocery shopping as he claims he has no time for anything besides work. It’s much easier and much faster. He’d ordered ingredients for a hearty dinner tonight, but what had arrived at his doorstep was much more than a chicken and an assortment of vegetables.

Slightly confused, Oliver raps the door again. When it opens, Connor stands with a towel around his torso and a toothbrush in his mouth (which almost falls out when he sees Oliver, he practically gapes.)

suddenly hyperaware of himself and his apartment, Connor impulsively invites Oliver in. he leaves to change and when he shuts the bedroom door behind him his heart does 67 jumping jacks and those thoughts he’d organized so well in the shower have all fallen out of their shelves. How the fuck was he going to present his case?

Pulling a navy tee over his head, he catches sight of how long his hair has gotten. Now where is the god damn styling wax when you need it…

+++

In the living hall, Oliver fidgets with the buckles on his briefcase, clicking them open and shut while his mind was torn between running and staying. The feeling of familiarity seems overwhelming and he swears he feels a little light-headed even at the sight of Connor.

Has he made the right decision by coming here?

God, he’s just so damn nervous… eyeing a bottle of water on the coffee table, he ardently takes a huge gulp of it and wills it to calm every single one of his palpitating nerves.

He massages his temples and reminds himself of why he is here in the first place:

  1. to fix things
  2. to talk
  3. to see Connor again
  4. to…
  5. to fall in love again, headfirst.



Connor looks almost brand new, as “brand new” as Connor Walsh gets. The apartment smells cleaner and there is a significantly lesser amount of empty food cartons. Most importantly, there is not one single beer can.

The sound of a door closing makes Oliver’s head snap up. It’s Connor, of course it is. In a fitting blue t-shirt that showed off his killer physique, Connor Walsh is the centerpiece of his apartment—and also a _huge_ distraction.

Albeit incredibly sober and sane, Oliver has trouble tearing his eyes away from Connor, whose expression lacks that half-smile, that schoolboy smugness he’s always flaunted. Instead, he looks unsure and a little bit unkempt (but in a way that made it look good)

Is Connor Walsh… nervous?

The tension is evident in the air, and because there are so many things left unsaid, the air in the apartment only thickens with ineptness.

Connor sits beside Oliver, still not looking him in the eye.

 “So… what brings you here?”

“How are you?”

Both of the men say simultaneously.

“I have a few things to tell you, and I thought that it was about time that we talked, anyway.”

Oliver says, taking a shallow breath. “How are things with you?” he turns to look at Connor, his long hair, his unshaved beard and his spaced out eyes.

“i-I think I’m doing fine. “ Oliver nods, but part of him wants con to keep talking, to apologize.

“I wanted to tell you something,” Ollie starts, “so do I,” says the other man.

“This whole month has been one of the hardest timeouts of my life, but I’ve been spending my time thinking about us, about you. I’ve been trying to figure out exactly why part of me just couldn’t bring itself to forgive you for… that,” the young lawyer flinches.

Ollie notices, so he puts his hand on Connor’s lap reassuringly. “I’ve forgiven you, don’t worry about that,”

Connor offers a weak smile appreciatively.

“See the thing is _I’m_ sorry. I’ve got equal parts of fault in this, and I acted the way I did because I was afraid to come to terms with the person I really was. I was afraid to face me, so I pinned it all on you, and I’m so, so sorry.”

“Funny, because so am I.” Connor chuckles, more at ease now. He pushes his hair back. “I wasn’t a good boyfriend at all.” at this, Oliver raises an eyebrow sarcastically, and Connor gives him a small shove.

“I was awful, and I know that now. I can’t undo what I’ve done, and I can’t cover up your wounds because I really hurt you; but I can try to make everything better, I can try  to make up for what I did: learn to be a better boyfriend, learn to cook, even drop out of law school, Ollie. I’ll do anything if it means you’ll be truly happy by my side.” Connor holds Ollie’s hands in his.

This is not what Oliver had seen coming—but he definitely wasn’t complaining. He’s overjoyed, and his heart aches to love again.

“So what do you say?” Connor probes. “Give me another try?”

This time, there is no smirk, no charm; just pure sincerity and a heart out on a sleeve.

“I knew you’d come around!” Oliver exclaims, maybe even a little teary eyed. He throw his arms around Connor and holds him oh so tight. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew It.” he mumbles into Connors neck.

Then, Connor puts his hands on Ollie’s shoulders and looks into his eyes, where there is not a hint of regret. He’s smiling bigger than ever, and when he tells Oliver he loves him, it feels like the most truthful thing he’s ever said.

In that single instant, all the walls ever built between them come down, all at once.

There is not even a millisecond of hesitation, of doubt. Here stands Connor, his heart open (it was never closed, not on Oliver anyway) and Oliver didn’t know where else to go than home.

the kiss is urgent and messy, a concoction of immense happiness and relief along with  the burning want for closure that is so intense as hands work their way down  a buttoned shirt; an old habit finally put to use again. Oliver feels the sparks, he does—every single one of them as his lips melt against Connor’s warm ones.

At once, it almost feels like two worlds blend into one, and the aftermath is a chaotic neutral.

The words that are too much are spoken in volumes through touch, fingers waltzing on an olive dance floor. Connors hands on the small of his back say _I’m sorry,  I love you_ and when Oliver deepens the kiss it says  _I know, I know._

Connor tastes like coffee, a surge of a new energy—he’s a livewire.

In the back of his mind, Connor scolds himself for ever second guessing home and turning away from the only shelter he’d ever known.

He draws in the slow scent of the man he’d been longing to hold for so long, and the forgiveness washes over him every time he looks into Ollie’s eyes. He feels free, like every single knot in his stomach has been untied.

Body on body, stomach on stomach, hands and lips everywhere; it doesn’t feel like this is ‘just sex’ because it isn’t. It is much, much more than that. It is an apology, a love letter and an elaborately passionate thank you card all in one.

And it feels like heaven, as Connor kisses Oliver on his neck, his chest and over his torso. Every touch and sensation is so magnified, and it all feels like electric again.

+++

Two men lay awake against the headboard, and with their hands still firmly intertwined, the night seems to go on and on. “I’m so glad you turned up,” Connor says, laying his head on Oliver’s shoulder.

“And so am I,” Oliver runs his fingers through Connor’s hair, pushing it back. “I saw something on a bumper sticker that day,” he starts, and Connor chuckles. “Oh, man,”

When Oliver shrugs Connor off his shoulder playfully, Connor says, “So what’d it say?”

“it said: ‘you are your choices’, and it took me a minute to really grasp what it meant, but I did and it started to make sense to me…like, you really are made of all your choices,”

Carefully resuming his last position, Connor leans in again. “Mhmm,”

“The person you are, _right now_ , is the end result of every single decision you’ve made! Don’t you think that’s cool, and a little crazy?” the bespectacled man gave the other a nudge, prompting some agreement.

“It is, it is.”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“Um, I mean, I guess I do?” Oliver turns around and gives him skepticism in a facial expression. “—no. no I don’t. Not really…”

Oliver peels the duvet away and steps out into the crisp air on the balcony, and Connor leans against the railing beside him. The city below is quiet except for a few cabs littered here and there and some clubs with their loud music. 20 storeys up, the billboards gleam, and not much is audible. From inside the apartment, Connor has left the record player on again.

[andy russell – let’s fall in love](https://open.spotify.com/track/1CR5fFv4iA3dy9nO1AlPG5)

There is barely enough ground to see from above, with the many buildings cluttered everywhere, their floors one stacked upon the other. Oliver points at one of the empty office buildings across the street.

“See that little window, still lit up? There has to be someone working overtime. From a plane flying pass us, they’ll only see a whole bunch twinkling stars, some of which are lights from windows. And these windows are so small, you’d think they didn’t matter—but they do. It all adds up, and whatever constellation they see from up there is a consequence of every single tiny light that is turned on tonight.”

“Alright, I’m beginning to see what you mean.”

“Those little lights and windows are all the choices we make. At the very moment we make these choices we might not know what they might lead to, or how important they are; but the truth is they are all crucial. For the big picture.”

“So what you’re trying to get at is…?”

“I’ve been looking at myself from a different point of view lately,” at this, Connor looks a little confused. “I look at myself and I see all these choices I’ve made, and how they’ve changed me one way or another…” Oliver trails away.

“And?”

“Right now, out of all the choices I’ve ever made,” he looks over at Connor, “you’re the one I’m happiest about, in this moment.”

Connor’s heart swells, and almost as if it’s his second nature, he pulls Oliver in and kisses him.

On the horizon, the sun has decided to come up after all; the first streaks of orange peel the black curtains away.

_Let’s fall in love,_

_Why shouldn’t we fall in love?_

_Our hearts are made of it, let’s take a chance,_

_Why be afraid of it…_

The music echoes out into whatever is left of the night sky; and when Oliver looks out at the fading stars, he wishes on every single one of them—real and artificial—that he never loses Connor ever again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope the ending is as good as i think it is! leave a comment or kudos if you liked it. 
> 
> if ya wanna talk, hmu on twitter @nonchalantiy and on tumblr: @intertwincd   
> till next time (?)


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